


Kinder in the Long Run

by littleblue_eyedbird



Series: Singer of Dreams [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, So much angst, and confessions that come too late, and desperate kisses, in the moonlight, resolution in the second chapter because I broke my own damn heart writing it, the one where Lavellan leaves Solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblue_eyedbird/pseuds/littleblue_eyedbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had asked for a little more time to think, and she had given it willingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He had asked for a little more time to think, and she had given it willingly.

She still called on him frequently—requesting his presence and expertise on missions, conquests, and explorations—but never once pushing him on the subject of them. Never once pushing him to define what they were, what they had become, since that dream they shared in the Fade.  She let him have all the space he needed, toeing the very fine line between intimacy and companionship gracefully. She had respected his choice and he had thought that the borrowed time might have allowed him to formulate a sound opposition to his overwhelming feelings, but much to his dismay, it only allowed for his fondness of her to grow.

It grew in moments of breathless laughter that left his sides aching spurned a joke privy only to the two of them.

_When was the last time he let himself laugh this hard?_

It grew through stolen glances around a requisition table. Through inviting smiles beside the campfire before disappearing into their tents. Through heavy lidded gazes and soft pillow talk from their bedrolls when they would share one. Through the fleeting grazes of lingering hands across the Great Hall during soirees held in her honor. Through suggestive smirks across his desk while engaged in banter thick with thinly veiled innuendo.

And through the frantic searches across the battlefield for one another after an arduous fight

_How many ways could her eyes hold him suspended in a moment, captivating him so?_

He found himself inexplicably drawn to her, compelled to touch her. Countless times he would reach for her and have to stop himself, chide himself on his inability to restrain his impulses.

But she was real beneath his fingertips, an anchoring presence all on her own. And so his resolve would fail, and he’d find himself brushing aside loose tendrils of hair and tucking them behind her ear, or wiping away the solitary tear that would escape down her cheek when his magic flared painfully in her palm.

He had obviously become so much more than her steadfast and loyal confidante, more than just a friend. And neither of them would out right acknowledge it, all because he had asked her not to.

He could see it in her eyes every time they were alone that she wanted to give him more of herself, but she withheld, removing herself from his presence and temptation to act on a desire they both were in denial about. He could see it in the way she nestled beside him on his couch, or how she would politely say goodnight despite lingering too long past a reasonable hour in his rotunda.

She had provided him with comfortable distance, so that if he had changed his mind, he would have plenty of opportunities to act on it.

And he had not.

It had not gone unnoticed, her shift in behavior towards him over the past week. Almost _too_ formal, _too_ respectful. Her time spent with him cut abruptly short with less frequent visits to his rotunda. Her curious questions and subtle flirting replaced with strategic inquiries and pragmatic aloofness she normally reserved for acquaintances she needed to cooperate with. He realized painfully that he missed _her_ , and he could no longer deny it. And it ached, her absence. He could feel it with every intake of breath that settled heavy in his lungs, a new burden to bear.

And he couldn’t even ask why, for it would shatter the illusion he had built around her, around him, around what they were. Because they had become _something more_.

He knew this dance of theirs could not last forever, for either she would tire of the oh-so-careful side-stepping of unspoken boundaries, or his resolve would crumble like the ruins of his temples in the palm of her marked hand.

He had not expected both outcomes to occur simultaneously, for the day he finally admitted to himself he was utterly and irrevocably in love with her, it was too late.

All these thoughts clouded his mind, his new found realization, her abrupt distance, causing the words and measurements on the parchment in front of him to swim before his eyes. A dull throb pounded at the base of skull, preventing him from focusing on the Veil at all, and its sudden surge in instability in the North Western part of the Hinterlands.

 “The lady Inquisitor looked simply stunning in her new gown, didn’t she?” A dreamy sigh echoed down from above.

The excited voices of two intoxicated agents failing in their attempt to whisper wafted through the stairwell that connected the rotunda to the second floor Library. Solas’ attention was immediately caught when they unmistakably mentioned Lavellan, and glanced up to see the shadows making their way around the second landing.

“I heard Vivienne commissioned that famous Orlesian dressmaker especially for the occasion!” The other voice replied giddily.

“I can’t believe the Duke proposed, this is so exciting! Do you think they’ll have the ceremony here, at Skyhold?”

Solas heart stopped and dropped violently into his stomach.

_What?_

“I don’t see why not, since the Duke is arranging a grand engagement party at his Estate. It’s only fair we would get to hold a celebration too. Well, that is, if she accepts his proposal.”

“She wouldn’t have had a fitting for that dress, or be traveling to visit him if she wasn’t!”

He was on his feet and heading towards the door before he realized he had even left his desk. His hand felt numb as he pushed the wooden open with a little more force than was necessary heading into hallway that bridged his circular study to the Great Hall.

It suddenly clicked in his mind, her withdrawal from his presence, the secret meetings and briefings, the tireless stream of visiting nobles… it was a political power play, and Lavellan was going to be offered up as bait. He had been beside her the first time they met Duke Cyril de Montfort, he witnessed firsthand the young man’s enrapture with the Inquisitor, though for her beauty or her power Solas had remained suspicious, that was up until this moment in time. He was there when he saw Lavellan recoil from the Duke’s advances, and reject his requests to spend time alone with her or attend Wyvern hunts with him. Instead she sought his company, and never left his side for the remainder of their brief stay at Chateau Haine, even going as far as to stay with him in his room several nights in a row. There were rumors the young Duke had intended to ask for her hand in union, but Solas had just thought them baseless and unfounded.

Apparently, they were not.

He passed Varric who glanced up in confusion in his wake. He pushed through the door that lead up to the quarters that used to belong to him a millennium ago, the stairs flying under his feet as he hastily ascended them. He paused at the top, taking in the scene before him. A small gathering of servants was flocked around Lavellan, who was wearing the most breath taking dress he had ever seen with her arms crossed. The distinct figures of Vivienne and Josephine suddenly obscured his view.

“No! There is to be no shapeshifting, at all, while at the Duke’s Estate!” Josephine declared adamantly, waving her clipboard around in an agitated manner, the candle long since blown out.

“But could you imagine the look on his face if I shifted into a wyv—“

“What if he accidentally mistakes you for one of the Wyverns he hunts!” Josephine hissed.

“Simple. I’d eat him,” Lavellan stated, completely deadpan.

Josephine froze.

“My dear, she is joking,” Vivienne reassured Josephine, placing a gentle hand her shoulder.

A slow smiled curled across Lavellan’s lips as Josephine let loose an exasperated sigh.

“No. Shapeshifting.”

“If we are done on the subject,” Vivienne glanced between Lavelland and the ambassador, “we need to move onto more pressing items. I know have just the palette to match that dress for you my dear, I have full confidence we will be able to mask those tattoos and scars—“

“If the Duke cannot accept me as I am, imperfections and all, then there will be no engagement.” Came her sharp reply to Vivienne, cutting her off abruptly.

His heart stuttered in his chest, so the engagement was real.

“At least let us cover your scars, my lady, you—“

“It’s not happening.” She shot an icy glare at Vivienne’s handmaiden who tried to speak.

“We want to make an lasting impress—“

“I do not care. Actions speak louder than appearances. If he is truly serious about this arrangement he will not be deferred by such trivial things,” she retorted coldly.

“On the Brightside, that will make preparing to depart tomorrow much faster!” Josephine intervened.

_Tomorrow. She was leaving tomorrow. Why didn’t she tell him?_

“I still do not understand why you are sending me with a contingent of soldiers, I would be so much faster on my own.”

“Absolutely not.” Josephine said adamantly, “ _Impressions_.”

Lavellan quirked her brow.

“And we cannot let you go by yourself. What if it is a trap?,” Josephine continued, “The Inquisition has enemies who might try to take advantage of your vulnerability being isolated and alone.”

“If someone tries to assassinate me at the dinner, I will simply turn into a Wyvern and claw—“

“THERE IS TO BE NO SHAPEHSIFTING.” Josephine cried out gripping her clipboard so hard her knuckles turned white, silencing everyone’s side conversations.

Lavellan remained unfazed, lifting her hands in a placating gesture while chuckling, “Okay, Josie, forgive me. I promise I won’t.”

Her smile faded when she looked past the ambassador and spotted him lingering at the edge of the stairs. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest as he held her steady gaze. He forced himself to take a few measured steps forward. Josephine followed her gaze and glanced in his direction as he approached, stepping aside to make space for him.

She was stunning.

The fitted evening gown was constructed of white fabric that glistened as if infused with diamond dust. Every time she shifted her weight, the torches from her room caught in the fabric, sending a cascade of shimmering lights across her dress. It was high collared with a plunging neck line and entirely sleeveless, revealing much of her tanned skin that lay underneath. It hugged her torso down to her thighs, where a giant slit revealed a portion of her toned legs

“Inquisitor,” he finally spoke up, causing a ripple of whispers to break out within the small crowd gathered around her, “a word?”

 “Really, Solas? This is hardly the time for a social call—“

“Yes, of course. Excuse us.” Lavellan interrupted Vivienne a second time. The enchanter’s expression twisted into one of distaste.

 “My dear—“

“Leave us,” she commanded to the room, crossing her wrists behind her back.

He remained in place as everyone jumped at her tone, scurrying around him frantically, trying to get out of her quarters as fast as they could. Vivienne turned on her heel and stormed by.

“I do hope this matter is worth the Inquisitor’s time, apostate” she whispered snidely as she passed him, throwing him a dirty glare for good measure. He inclined his head in mock acknowledgement.

Josephine was the last to leave, and looked several times over her shoulder before Lavellan gave her a curt nod, and slipped down the stairs and out of sight.

He waited until he heard the door at the bottom of the stairwell shut before stepping closer, gesturing to the balcony. She turned and strode out, flicking her fingers towards the balcony doors and they opened effortlessly. The gentle evening breeze that blew in through the entry way billowed through her dress, rippling the fabric along her ankles like wisps. It gave the illusion of gliding across the stone threshold. He followed her wordlessly, drinking in view of the dress made of starlight.

He thought the balcony’s fresh air would clear his reeling mind, but it did not. He found he couldn’t focus on anything of things he had tried to mentally prepare to say to her on his mad rush to her quarters. There must have been a reason she had kept this from him. It should not have stung the way it did, piercing his chest repeatedly, each sharp jab a little deeper than the previous. His words came tumbling out as he turned to face her.

“You’re leaving.”

She placed her hands on the balcony rail, flexing them a few times before settling on a solid grip. She didn’t look at him when she answered.

“Yes,” her voice was soft and gentle, a stark contrast from the harsh tone she had used to dismiss her entourage. A fresh stab of pain cut through him, despite her careful response. And he couldn’t stop the truth from spilling from his lips.

“I do not want you to go.”

Her fingers curled around the rail tighter.

 “I do not want to go either, but…I..”, she said, still without looking at him, voice thick as she pushed through whatever turmoil was churning in her, “I must.”

“You do not have to do anything you are unwilling to do.”

“This is something I must do Solas, for the betterment of the Inquisition, for Thedas.”

“Giving yourself up to power hungry fool who—“

“What I will gain from this engagement will provide the Inquisition with the resources it needs to gain a foothold and influence over Orlais. I cannot let this opportunity go to waste,” she argued bitterly. She clearly didn't believe a word she was saying.

“This isn’t _you_.”

Pain, so much pain welled in her eyes when she finally looked at him.

“I know. But it is who I have to be.”

She _never_ accepted defeat, and yet every word she spoke was dripping with it.

He _despised_ it.

“They are forcing you into this,” he said, unable to hide the emotion spilling through, “ _Why did you not tell me_?”

“You wanted space Solas!” she exclaimed, casting aside her own reserved mask in favor of letting her true feelings show through, “I was under the impression you were not…that my…it was not reciprocated.”

Remorse coiled in his gut as he pieced together her thought process. He let his eyes fall shut.

“I have not forgotten the kiss.” He admitted weakly, opening his eyes again to face her reaction.

“Neither have I. But…” she lamented, forcing the words out, “I am afraid it is too late, Solas.”

Her voice waivered on his name, and it gutted him.

She pushed herself away from the balcony’s edge and turning away from him back towards her quarters.

“Don’t,” he pleaded softly, catching her elbow and pulling her back. She latched onto him as she spun into his arms.

“Please, you can’t look at me like that,” she choked out, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Her eyes were glassy as they searched his face, and he felt his heart constrict. Her eyes held a thousand unspoken words swirling in their green depths, longing and regret pooling around the edges threatening to spill down her face. His own traced her expression, the way she fought back the tears, how she kept her rose tinted lips from curling into a frown. She was on the brink of breaking, and it was all his fault. He pulled her closer, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers, trying to keep the pieces of her from fracturing as best he could. She shuddered, her breath spilling across his neck in a warm gust. She wrapped her arms around his body, fingers tightening into the fabric of his sweater on his back as she pulled herself against him. He could feel the dampness against his throat as she pressed her cheek against it, and the pulse of his anchor in her palm fisted at his back.

She sighed his name, a breathless apology as he curled himself around her. He felt a tremor ripple through her against his chest as she struggled to contain a sob.  They lingered locked in the embrace, suspended in the moment longer than they should have. She pulled away to look up at him once more, her left hand tracing up his arm, across his shoulder. Her fingertips brushing his cheek before she cupped it. The anchor’s warmth spread across his face as she grazed her thumb over his chin.

"You are so beautiful," he confessed, shivering into her touch.

He didn’t know who moved first, if he surged forward or is she leaned up, but her mouth was suddenly pressed against his and he was kissing her.

It was warm, it was comforting, and it was _real_. He melted into it before he could stop himself. His hand slipped around her waist to settle on the small of her back against the silken fabric. He pulled her flush against him as he slated his mouth over hers, slow and languid. Her hand dropped from his cheek to the collar of his sweater and yanked, pulling him deeper.

He brought a hand to cup her jaw, tilting her head back and swiping his tongue along her bottom lip. He slipped past her parted lips, delving in to coax a low moan from her that vibrated against his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she whimpered against his mouth.

He kissed her harder, trying to think of a way to tell her what exactly she meant to him. He convinced himself he could make this work, make them work, that he just needed time to work it out, reveal himself and come clean. She was pragmatic, logical, she would _understand_. But any explanation his mind conjured sounded pathetic. Instead, he poured all the words he should have told her into the kiss Tracing apologies, praises, and his regrets with his tongue. But she deserved to hear it.

“I should have. I should have told you how I felt,” he managed to gasp between their breathless kisses, “Should have shared with you the words I kept to myself.”

 “ _Solas.”_

 “Ar lath m-“

A finger was pressed against his lips, silencing him before he could finish his confession. She was shaking her head, tears streaming down her face, tears glistening in the moonlight.

“Solas, _please_.”

She ripped herself away from him, taking a few trembling steps backwards. He reached for her until she put up her hands, warding him off. He immediately stopped, frozen in the spot. Her rejection hit him cold and hard in the chest

“I can’t, I can’t love you,” she cried, “It’s too late, I… _can’t_.”

Her lips trembled into a grimace before she clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling a cry that escaped and that made her shoulder shake. She spun away, her dress of ice and starlight shimmering as she ran through the bedroom and down the flight of stairs, out of sight. She left him isolated and alone on the balcony that once was his.

 _This will be kinder in the long run_ , he lied to himself, pressing the heels of his palms to face, rubbing away the traitorous tears that were about to fall from his eyes, _This will be kinder in the long run._

He felt his knees give out from underneath him, and he let the chill of the stone floor seep into his body as he drowned himself in regret.

 _But losing her broke his heart_.


	2. My Love

She left at the break of dawn the next morning.

He told himself he would not watch her leave—that his heart would ache too much watching her ride off knowing she loved him back, but felt bound by her duty. Something _he should_ have felt bound by, but... nevertheless, he found himself standing on the battlements just outside his rotunda, watching the grand procession out of Skyhold.

She was hard to miss. Dressed in bright riding clothes on a white hart, she stood out like a beacon guiding her soldiers forward into battle, albeit a political one. He wondered how much bartering it took on Josephine’s part to get Lavellan to ride the hart instead of her favored dracolisk; the two were nearly inseparable. The ambassador rode sidesaddle beside her, and Cassandra on her left. The Commander was patting down the seeker’s horse, giving parting sugar cubes and last minute nose rubs. He was staying behind to keep order while Lavellan was away, or so Solas overheard the scouts above him that morning saying.

He stood out in the brisk morning chill, unmoving, until he could no longer see her figure weaving among the throng. As the draw bridge was drawn closed, he stifled a shiver. From pain, or the bitter mountain air that nipped at him through his light sweater, he could not differentiate. It mattered not, the air was numbing, and it was just what he needed.

If Wisdom were here, he could have turned to her for counsel. But she was not, and could not help him now. He could only call on his memories now, recalling that his friend had wanted him to be happy, had encouraged him to give in to his heart’s desires. But now his heart had fallen apart and he was even more lost without her. He closed his eyes as a new wave of grief swept over him as he was reminded of that loss. Of Wisdom.

He never felt more alone.

* * *

 

Sleep that had once been a refuge became a nightmare. His dreams tortured him, leaving him fatigued and drained when he awoke at dawn. His dreaming mind was plagued with presence of corrupted spirits, drawn to his negative energy and heartache. These spirits taunted him, mocked him, sneered at the fool who fell in love and ruined everything he touched. He banished them from his mind, over and over, _over_ , but new spirits replaced the old and the cycle would start again. The broken spirits would take on her form, speak to him using _her words_ , sing using _her voice_ —a haunting melody that followed him into the waking world, and echoed continuously through his mind. The Fade that had once brought him certainty and relief now only offered him discomfort, and agony.

It was more taxing to dream than to stay awake.

He tossed the heavy pelts from his body and stood from his bed. He would find no peace in dreams tonight. He rubbed at his face, pushing away the fresh wave of regret. It was too late to dwell on the ‘ _what ifs’_ , and this was for the best—or so he repeatedly tried to rationalize to himself.

But if it left an aching void in his chest, how could this be the better option?

He dressed quickly and made his way to the rotunda. He would research more on the various fluctuations across the Veil, perform a few calculations to pinpoint new weaknesses or new rifts might emerge.

It was mindless work for a mindless man.

He threw himself into his work, the duty he almost neglected for the sake of companionship. Newfound guilt blossomed in his chest at the thought that he had nearly abandoned his entire mission, that he had been weak enough to become sidetracked by such a simple thing and fleeting as _love_.

He was about to dip his quill in ink to start a new diagram displaying discrepancies in the Veil frequencies of the Hinterlands when a scout burst onto the second floor landing.

“ _There’s a wyvern charging the fortress_ ,” he gasped between breaths.

Solas paused over his parchment, the ink dripping off the tip of his quill and landing in a small splatter.

“A wvy—don’t be ridiculous, they don’t come up this far north…do they?” another agent called back to the first in disbelief.

Solas was out of his seat in a heartbeat, racing towards the battlements where he stood four days prior to see her off.

Something must have gone wrong.

Bells were tolled along the outer wall, alerting the soldiers on rounds to take arms as archers were called to the gate. They knocked their arrows, preparing to launch an assault.

“Hold your fire,” the Commander bellowed, scrambling up the stairs two at a time to reach the archers, fixing his disheveled hair as he ran, “That’s the Inquisitor, stand down! Lower the gate!”

“Oi, didn’tya hear? That’s inky ya tit!” Solas heard Sera cry out, turning towards the sound her voice to see her shove one of the soldiers out of his offensive stance with a forceful push.

There was a loud scraping noise as the gate was lowered but it was not quite fast enough, for a large reptilian figure launched itself over the top of the battlement. There were several cries of surprise and alarm as the soldiers bolted out of the creature’s path as it continued its way to the inner wall. It leaped from the ledge of the battlement, careening down into the main courtyard below.

As it descended, pillars of violet smoke swirled around its body, golden sparks emanating where the the purple mist touch it’s scales. The Inquisitor shapeshifted into her elven before their eyes and didn’t break her stride as she hit the earth. The dress of starlight was shimmering, illuminated by the light of the torches as she raced towards the main steps. As she approached, she glanced up in his direction.

Suspended in that surreal moment, Solas felt the air rush from his lungs as he peered across the courtyard into her eyes, smoldering like the veilfire he summoned in their most intimate moments. It was a look meant only for him.

He fade stepped back into the rotunda, nearly slipping on the cloth he had used to cover his paints before taking off again, pushing past the heavy oak door that sealed off the rotunda from the main hall.

She was standing in the grand entry, doors thrown wide allowing the mountain breeze to billow through the skirts of her glistening dress. He could make out the tears that had just begun forming around the edges of her eyes as she called out his name.

She threw herself at him, and he met her halfway. Her arms wrapped around his torso as he pulled her close, slipping one hand around the back of her head as she buried her face into his shoulder.

“I couldn’t do it,” she whispered against the worn fabric of his tunic, feeling the warmth of her breath spread over his neck.

He held onto her tighter, pressing his lips on the top her head.

“I just couldn’t… I couldn’t betray my heart,” she spoke softly, nudging his jaw with her nose as she lifted her head to look up at him.

He found he was speechless. She had fled Orlais, dropped _everything_ to come back to him. _Him_. Sacrificed her duty as Inquisitor because she couldn’t live a lie. He gave in against his better judgement, allowing himself to get lost in the emerald depths of her eyes as he traced the shell of her ear, dipping his fingers along her jawline before cupping her cheek.

“I realized…I could never ever love him. Not for money, or power, or whatever glory this arrangement would reap for the Inquisition. _Not while_ _I love you_.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly swallowed up the sob that nearly escaped her mouth with his own. He wiped away the tears flowing freely from her cheeks and reciprocated every word she had confessed in the only way he knew how.

“ _My love_ ,” she sighed against his lips, pulling him closer as the cloak fell from her shoulders.

He did not care that a small crowd had gathered, roused from their slumber, spectating their reunion, eliciting gasps, claps, and cheers. He couldn’t care, not in this moment—not while she living, and her love was _real_.  He tuned it all out until all he could hear were her words ringing louder than any cheer in his mind, echoing in synchrony with the beating of his heart.

_My love._

_My love._

_My love._

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm this HURT to write, so I am writing a resolution/additional ending.
> 
> Because I can't leave it like this.


End file.
